Without thought, Isobel crouched down beside where he landed. “Are you all right, sir?” she asked without considering hewouldn’t be able to understand her. She offered him her hand, and he eyed it warily before chattering noisily. He got up on his own, shaking his small fist at the Xaal as Sabis hauled her upright again with a threatening grumble.
Looking behind her, she searched for the small being, but he had already gone.
A door slid open, leading them somewhere new. Isobel couldn’t make out the interior with the Xaal’s large body blocking most of her view, but the space was warm and smelled fragrant. There was music playing somewhere—a strange style, as if someone had never heard music before and was going off description alone. Accompanying it was the din of chatter.
When her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she drank in the sights. The place was full of occupants, most sitting at tables pressed against the walls, with shadows concealing their features. Others pushed and shoved their way through the crowds.
It was those dancing that drew her attention, though. Some moved their entire bodies in smooth waves as if the strange rhythm undulated through them, some jittered about like they couldn’t keep still even if they tried. If the Queen saw people dancing in such a way at any of her balls, she would probably keel over.
Though Isobel wanted to avert her gaze—because it felt like she was looking at something private and intimate—she couldn’t. Not to mention, there was someone doing something verging on illicit no matter where she looked.
Collecting herself, she pivoted from mindless gawking to looking for someone, anyone, who could help her get away from the Xaal. Some beings were larger than them, hulking and giant, taking up multiple seats with their girth. Some were pale green, others as black as night itself. There were those with multiple eyes, multiple heads, antennae, strange hair, too many limbs and not enough.
None looked like allies.
And most looked nothing like her. Not that she was surprised by the fact. Ved had told her that there were countless species and many weren’t humanlike. But it was entirely different to see it with her own eyes.
A large bear-like being roared as Dented Armor shrugged past it. Its claw-tipped fingers reached for the Xaal, but it must have thought better of it, its brown eyes rolling across her and to Sabis behind her. They passed another individual that stopped to look at her with fisheyes bulging out of its head. Its mouth was puckered as it inspected her, and then it pressed closer still, slits on the side of its neck opening like flared nostrils.
The Xaal behind her pushed the being out of the way before it could get any closer.
It became quickly apparent that no one cared about her predicament.
Her captors found a place to sit along one of the walls, pressing her into the deep seat and boxing her in. She hadn’t noticed that there were more than two Xaal. In fact, there werefive.
By the devil.
Dented Armor gave a command to the last Xaal, whose armor was darker gray and unlike the others. He left the way they had come without a reply.
“Where are we?” Isobel dared to ask. Not that it mattered.
One barked something at her without even looking. She fell quiet.
They sat like that for several minutes, the Xaal merely looking out at the crowd as if not trusting anyone there. Then the fifth one returned with what she could only describe as a tankard and a tray of unrecognizable food. She looked between the items cautiously as they were placed in front of her.
“Drink,” Dented Armor said, pushing the cup toward her.
She peered into the container to find a dark, pungent liquid. Wrinkling her nose at it, she shook her head. The strong aroma alone made her nauseous.
“Drink,” he growled, nudging it even closer. His accent was thick and garbled, but she understood the command. She simply couldn’t bring herself to comply.
He turned his focus to the one who’d brought it and barked, “Andrix.”
The Xaal turned to look at him, the lights of the tavern reflecting off his eye shields. Andrix must be his name. She silently repeated it to herself so she wouldn’t forget.
Dented Armor said something in Xaala, and Andrix turned his attention to her. “Breg wants you to drink this. Imagine the most violent threats you can and then make them worse. That’s what he says he’ll do to you if you don’t.”
Isobel was so shocked by his near perfect pronunciation that she stared open-mouthed at him—until Breg slammed his fist on the table, causing her to jump.
Letting out a defeated sigh, she looked back at the black liquid before her. She pinched her nose, and when they didn’t reprimand her for it, she quickly took a sip. The liquid was thick and coated her mouth like pitch. It tasted so bitter and disgusting that she swallowed it just to have it out of her mouth, but it left her spluttering.
The bench shook with the laughter of the Xaal around her. The only one not laughing was Andrix, who was looking at her with a slight tilt to his head.
Eying the plate, she was afraid it would be just the same. The leftover film of liquid on her tongue and teeth made her queasy. It could have been one of Cook’s mouth-watering roasts placed before her andshe still wouldn’t have been able to stomach it. As it was, the dish consisted of an unappetizing slosh of dark brown with floating white chunks. Her eyes caught on the fork-like utensil submerged within the mush.
The Xaal resumed speaking to each other, and Isobel found herself looking at Andrix, who leaned against the wall next to their table with his arms crossed over his chest. He seemed out of place next to the others. As she understood it, Xaal of one clan usually dressed with some uniformity as the four silver-clad ones around her did.
She was still contemplating the significance of his distinct armor when someone approached their table. Four arms, block face, large black eyes.
